


Gelding

by onlyapapermoon



Category: Glee
Genre: Blood, Body Modification, Bondage, Castration, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Graphic Description, Medical Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Squick, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyapapermoon/pseuds/onlyapapermoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sue decides she wants Kurt back as a Cheerio for his senior year. However, she also wants to ensure he won't be distracted by any inconvenient urges. (PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gelding

Being called to Sue Sylvester’s office was never a _good_ thing. Kurt had enjoyed his stint with the Cheerios and even found himself respecting the Coach in a strange, ambivalent way, but when his name was called over the PA system – and that had to be an unauthorized use of the school’s equipment – he still felt an uneasy shiver buzz down his back.  
  
All the same, he collected his bag with a quick apologetic smile to the teacher and flounced out with his chin held high. Showing fear was the quickest way to convince the morons in his class that they had a chance at bringing him down and he was determined that senior year was going to be Kurt Hummel’s year.  
  
“You wanted me, Ms. Sylvester?” he asked, opening the door to her office enough to peer in.  
  
She was sitting at her desk, shuffling through a stack of papers. “Good, you came,” she said without looking up. She adjusted her reading glasses and peered closely at a particular page, speaking absently. “If you hadn’t, I would have hunted you down anyway, but this makes my life easier, albeit less fun.” When he tentatively opened the door and made his way over to the desk, she glanced up and said, “No, stay standing.”  
  
Kurt’s lips pursed together but he hefted the shoulder strap of his bag back up and waited patiently. Dealing with Ms. Sylvester was always an… adventure, in its way, but she would get around to what she’d called him for eventually. Besides, he couldn’t bring himself to complain about having an ironclad excuse for missing math.  
  
After about a minute, she nudged her papers into a reasonably stable pile and stood up, pulling her glasses off and dropping them on top of the papers. She regarded him for a second before informing him, “You’re back on the Cheerios, effective immediately.” Kurt blinked, but she continued without acknowledging him further, “As should be obvious even through your brain-deadening fog of hairspray, we’re not going to simply triumph this year, we are going to mercilessly crush every other team in the country. That includes the ones we aren’t officially competing against. If they exist, they are our competition, regardless of geography, official brackets, or age group.”  
  
Kurt felt his eyebrows rise, but he nodded automatically. “Ms. Sylvester-”  
  
“ _Coach_ Sylvester,” she interrupted.  
  
Kurt nodded again. “Coach Sylvester, I appreciate your drive, as always, but I don’t think I’ll have the time. I’m sorry to turn down your offer, but glee comes first and we have a very good chance of winning Nationals this year.”  
  
Coach Sylvester gave him a look reminiscent of Patti LuPone being turned down for a role in community theater. Kurt tried not to wince. “I didn’t realize this was up for debate, Porcelain,” she said mildly. “And do you know why I didn’t realize that, with all the wisdom at my disposal? Because it _isn’t_. I want your vocals and judge-confusing androgynous appeal to back up my winning squad and, if you need a reason in addition to ‘because Sue Sylvester ordered it,’ you want your time in the spotlight.” She shrugged. “Oh, you had your one, lonely shared song with the midget in the fetish costume last spring, but since you’ve come back, we both know that William Schuester isn’t going to give you any focus in his hastily-coughed-up half-digested ‘musical numbers’ for competition.” She leaned forward slightly and Kurt couldn’t stop the automatic rush of adrenaline at the prospect of thousands of eyes on him and millions more watching on live television as he led McKinley’s team to victory after their year of defeat in his absence. Coach Sylvester nodded approvingly, seeming to notice the catch in his breath. “I knew you’d see it my way.”  
  
Kurt tried to look aloof, but he was fairly sure the breathless tone in his voice gave him away when he hastily informed her, “I’m not quitting glee club, though. And if you make me choose, I’ll take New Directions every time.”

Coach Sylvester snorted. “If I’ve learned anything in my years of competition with the curly-headed demagogue you glee clubbers worship, it’s that he fails the most spectacularly when I allow him to act on his own. Believe me, I fully intend to sit back this year with my placenta shake and treat it purely as a spectator sport.” Apparently bored with the subject, she placed a finger on her desk and pushed down on what looked like a scuffmark but turned out to be a hidden panel that depressed slightly. It was answered by a clinking sound and then a creak as a section of the back wall slid to the side, revealing a passageway.  
  
Kurt blinked but couldn’t say he was surprised.  
  
“After you,” she said, gesturing at it.  
  
Kurt gripped his shoulder strap tighter and warily obeyed, jumping a little at the deceptively quiet click as the door shut behind Coach Sylvester, leaving them both in the glow provided by strips of dim lights set into the floor.  
  
When the passageway opened up into a room, Kurt could only barely make out the contours of it. There was no light except that coming from the passageway and all he could tell was that it was windowless and slightly larger than an average classroom. He thought about wondering how Coach Sylvester had managed to create a hidden lair in the middle of the school, then thought better of it.  
  
He was just about to turn around and ask her what she had brought him there for when the little light there was from the passageway was cut off with another click of a door closing, he was abruptly relieved of his bag, and warm, wiry hands were closing over his wrists and gathering them behind his back. Kurt jerked in surprise and yelped, “Coach, what-”  
  
She didn’t respond other than by planting the other hand in the middle of his hack and propelling him toward what he assumed was the center of the room. He automatically struggled to pull his hands free, but her grip was stronger than anyone of her size had a right to be and he was bafflingly aware that he had no idea what he was struggling to avoid. His confusion was made all the worse when she did let go of his hands, only to grip his shoulders and, inexplicably, force him to spin until he was too dizzy to register where she was in the surrounding dark.  
  
He helplessly slumped down a little, and couldn’t pull his balance together enough to push her away when she came after his hands again. The press of something cool and stiff and studded with cold points of metal closing around his wrists sent a sick pulse of dread through the overwhelming confusion. He was tugged unceremoniously upright, his arms pushed up above his head, and there was a clink of metal before he was released and Coach Sylvester’s body heat moved away. Even in her absence, though, Kurt was horrified to realize that he couldn’t bring his arms back down – his wrists were secured together above his head, allowing some slack, but not enough for him to explore whatever had been used to chain him.  
  
The lights coming on nearly blinded him and he had to squint against the sudden brightness.  
  
“First things first,” Coach Sylvester said in a terrifyingly cheerful tone. “No screaming, or as little as you can manage. It’s annoying and I’ve thoroughly soundproofed this place, anyway – it’s my lair of solitude for when the glee club starts shrieking, in addition to my secret sex dungeon.”

Kurt gaped and stared around at the room. There was no sign of the door they’d come in through, not even a telltale crack in a wall, and the disorientation of being spun around kept him from even being able to tell which direction he should look in. When the contents of the room registered, though, the disappearing door slipped to the back of his mind. He couldn’t put a name to nearly any of the devices lining the walls, mounted in what had to be custom-made glass trophy cabinets, but there were a few he vaguely recognized from particularly edgy music videos. He found himself mindlessly backing away from Coach Sylvester as much as the chain would allow, wrists aching from the pull.  
  
She watched him with a tolerant look as he came to the end of the chain’s slack and his eyes darted around wildly, but after a moment, she rolled her eyes and slapped a control panel on the wall behind her, seemingly at random. The chain began pulling tight as it wound up, dragging Kurt forward until he was directly under it again no matter how much he tried to brace against it, then tugged him inexorably upward. The well-maintained links disappeared up into a small hole in the ceiling and coiled somewhere unseen with barely a sound until she hit a button again. When the chain’s movement abruptly stopped, Kurt could still rest his weight on the balls of his feet, but just barely, and he quickly realized that if he tried to twist or struggle, it would only painfully strain his shoulders instead of granting him any leeway.  
  
“What are you doing?” he half-yelled as he strained against the leather around his wrists, oddly embarrassed at the way his voice cracked in the middle.  
  
Coach Sylvester only seemed pleased with his immobility, rather than bothered by his tone. “Well, Porcelain, I’m making sure that you’ll be worth my time and energy. I know that in my hands, you can be an effective part of my championship-winning machine, but I don’t have any room for slip-ups this year. Last year, both of my head Cheerios quit on me.” Her eyes narrowed. “I had been willing to pass Quinn Fabray’s repeated failures off as an anomaly, a consequence of her misadventures in procreation, so I let Hooters give it a try. As you know, though, her undoubtedly disease-riddled ladybits also led her astray and she left rather than let me shoot her Sapphic Sister Barbie out of a cannon.” As she spoke, Coach Sylvester had been pacing, and it had taken her directly in front of Kurt by the time she decisively said, “Long story short, hormonal teenagers have turned out to be my sole Achilles heel. And Sue Sylvester doesn’t _do_ classical references.”  
  
Kurt shouted in wordless shock when she reached out and coolly unbuttoned his jeans before yanking them and his briefs down to his ankles, but she ignored his protests. Ruthlessly, she stepped on the tangle of fabric and dragged it back and away with one foot, still talking. “I have it on good authority – and videotaped evidence – that you and your half-shaved bonobo friend have been spotted humping vigorously when you believe yourselves to be alone this past summer. Aside from the mental image being so unappealing I may never be aroused again, this implies that your libido, like those of your predecessors, could be a liability to my chances at winning.” She pointed a finger in Kurt’s face decisively. “I’m not allowing any liabilities this year.”  
  
Kurt still had no idea what was going on, but it was hard to concentrate on the words being spat at him when his entire lower half was now bare, exposed to the room and Coach Sylvester should she choose to look down.  
  
She looked down, and Kurt had to close his eyes tightly in shame, feeling almost dizzy with it. There was a soft sound of his jeans being kicked across the floor, then a rush of air – Coach Sylvester was kneeling down – and his shoes were tugged off unceremoniously, thudding to the floor as she tossed them to join his pants. And god, she was right there at the level of his crotch, and it wasn’t as if Kurt felt he had anything to be ashamed of, but he still wasn’t fully comfortable with that kind of exposure and it certainly wasn’t something he wanted to share with her.

Nothing happened for a few seconds except for the sound of Coach Sylvester getting up and moving away, so Kurt cautiously opened his eyes in time to see her unrolling something white and plastic-textured – a tarp – and dropping it to the floor, nudging it with her toes until Kurt was forced to lift his feet, feeling absurd, to allow it under him. By the time she was done, it covered a good ten feet square of floor with him in the center.  
  
He watched her work in renewed confusion and unease, especially when she disappeared somewhere behind him and he had no idea what she was up to. He still wasn’t sure what she was doing when he heard her footsteps approach on the tarp and stop immediately behind him, but when she crouched down again and a thick leather cuff was buckled around his ankle, Kurt felt a spike of panic and kicked back instinctively, sure that there was no pleasant direction this could go in.  
  
Coach Sylvester made a mild sound of annoyance and grasped his other ankle tightly enough to hurt, fingers digging purposefully between tendons as she tugged it into position and buckled a cuff around it as well. Kurt desperately tried to kick again, not wanting to let whatever was happening play out, but his movements were oddly restricted and when he glanced down, he realized why.  
  
The cuffs on his ankles were attached to either end of a sturdy metal rod, preventing them from moving independently, and a sick sinking feeling took hold when he realized that there were also two chains coming off each cuff and Coach Sylvester was in the process of securing the end of the first chain through a hole in the tarp to a small ring set into the floor.  
  
He was still able to twist a little and hope that small freedom would enable him to escape somehow until the third and fourth chains were secured to their respective rings, and then he found that he couldn’t move his feet an inch. The bar was long enough that, humiliatingly, he couldn’t even draw his legs together to hide himself. Coach Sylvester looked at him thoughtfully, then tapped the button on the wall just long enough for the chain to drag him up so that he was stretched between the cuffs on his wrists pulling him to the ceiling and the ones on his ankles binding him to the floor. He couldn’t even twist his torso or hips without setting up unbearable strain in his limbs.  
  
“There we go,” she said, looking him up and down with approval. Kurt could feel his face flushing and bit back a whimper, even as he turned to hide his face as best he could against his upraised arm. God, she could see everything, and even if the look was more appraising than interested, it still felt humiliatingly invasive. Unfortunately, hiding his face meant that Kurt didn’t see her approach with the scissors until they were snipping through his shirt already, tearing down each arm to the neckline and then straight down the middle amidst Kurt’s renewed frantic protests, until all that was left was a wad of fabric that she carelessly tossed to join the rest of his clothes.  
  
Truly naked now except for the cuffs, Kurt snapped his mouth shut and glared at Coach Sylvester, doing his best to hide the hurt and terror and confusion behind a safe self-righteousness. “What, exactly, do you plan on doing now?” he made himself ask, proud that his voice only trembled a little.  
  
Coach Sylvester’s smile wasn’t reassuring in the least, and when her hand shot out and she suddenly had his scrotum in a firm grip, Kurt couldn’t fight back the urge to flinch.  
  
She was still _touching_ him and Kurt felt his breath coming fast and shallow from fear and discomfort and the miserable realization that it was the first time someone else had touched him there. Her fingers kept feeling out the shape of his balls in a purposeful way and Kurt tried to squirm but discovered that his bonds kept him from writhing out of her grip. After an interminable moment of her brisk groping, she made a “hm” sound and let go, walking to the control panel on the wall to fiddle with a dial.

Kurt took a few deep breaths to center himself before she did anything else. Instead of coming back though, he watched her as she bustled around collecting things from trophy cases and hidden cabinets and piled them onto a cart. Kurt wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the bottles, unfamiliar tools, and the one inexplicable magazine were for, but he followed her with his eyes all the same, desperately needing to focus on anything other than the phantom feel of her hand between his legs.  
  
The room was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm, for all that Kurt was naked, by the time Coach Sylvester was apparently satisfied with her collection of devices Kurt really didn’t want to wonder about. He could already feel sweat dewing his hairline slightly and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Heat’ll help things along,” Coach Sylvester volunteered cheerfully. “Makes things drop properly so I can get at ‘em.” She made an incomprehensible grasping motion in the air as if to demonstrate.  
  
Kurt stared at her in confusion, not wanting to connect the pieces.  
  
“Now, this might be in the way,” she said as she came in close, slapping his limp cock lightly.  
  
Kurt choked on a breath and felt himself shaking a little. He _really_ didn’t want to know where she was going with everything. His frantic thoughts were disrupted by a stinging cold sensation as Coach Sylvester spritzed something from a bottle directly onto the head of his cock and onto his belly. He bit back a question of what she was doing because the reason for what must have been an antiseptic became clear a second later – she lifted what looked almost like a hoop earring, except with a very sharp tip, off the cart and, without ceremony, pinched the skin just below his navel and thrust the sharp end through the pinched skin. Kurt whined involuntarily and she shook her head at the noise as she snapped the ring shut.  
  
When she reached down and pinched the skin just below the head on the upper side of his cock, too, Kurt wished he was able to thrash out of her grip. His vision had gone momentarily white with shock and pain when she slid the piercing in, so by the time he felt, then saw, that she’d snapped the second ring closed so that it interlocked with the first, holding his cock up – and ‘out of the way’ – in what looked like a sad parody of an erection, Kurt was only able to manage a groan of misery.  
  
Coach Sylvester looked pleased with herself, as usual, but Kurt felt a sick lurch in his stomach and had to close his eyes for a second. There was a rustling sound of movement. He considered keeping his eyes closed for whatever was coming next, if only to spare himself the indignity of seeing his body manipulated any further, but latex snapped somewhere and through the rush of fear he decided that, terror or none, he would face it head on. He might be helpless to do anything else, but he at least wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of hiding away. When he set his jaw as proudly as he could and opened his eyes again, Coach Sylvester was wearing gloves and holding the antiseptic spray. Her eyebrows lifted a little but there seemed to be a hint of… approval, almost, in her gaze, although she looked no more sympathetic or concerned that she had a naked student bound in front of her than before. “Normally I don’t approve of neat freak behavior,” she informed him, waving the bottle demonstratively. “If someone can be beaten by an organism that is millions of times smaller than they are, they don’t deserve to live. Unfortunately, I need you alive and mobile soon, so I’m giving in to unspeakable weakness this once.” She shook her head and muttered, “Sterile surgery, medicine’s cockblock on Darwin.”  
  
Kurt only barely heard her through the rushing in his ears because she was reaching down and squeezing him again, pressing her thumb against one of his testicles until he heard himself choke out a whimper. She wasn’t – she _couldn’t_ -

“Looks like you hang a little high on the right,” she observed, kneeling down and peering close as she squeezed again. “Guess I’ll be starting there.”  
  
“No,” Kurt forced out of his suddenly tight throat. “No, you can’t – that’s illegal-”  
  
“When has that ever bothered me before?” she cut him off absently. There was a sting of cold as she spritzed antiseptic over sensitive skin and, god, her face was inches away from his scrotum and she kept _staring_ like she was sizing it up.  
  
“I’ll tell – I’ll go to the police,” Kurt tried desperately. “They’ll take it seriously this time. You could lose everything.”  
  
Coach Sylvester looked up at him mildly. “And then everyone will find out that you quite literally have no balls.” Kurt couldn’t hold back the flinch at her words. “As it stands, no one outside of this room will ever know unless you tell them. If you want to spread that knowledge around,” she shrugged, “be my guest.”  
  
She knew exactly why he would never tell, Kurt realized with a cold certainty. She’d heard the comments in the hallways and had even delivered a handful of them herself in practices. She knew why what she was about to do was particularly painful and humiliating. He had no doubt she was sympathetic, as far as she was capable, but he suddenly also remembered that she’d still been willing to send the entire glee club into certain arrest abroad after they’d organized and sung at her sister’s funeral. Understanding and relative fondness were no protection when it came down to the results she wanted.  
  
“You just don’t want me to become… distracted, right?” he asked. He had to try one last time, although he was all too aware of his chance of success against a decision Coach Sylvester had already made. “Couldn’t I just promise to wait? Blaine and I still haven’t – he’d understand if I explained why. I could sign a contract, if you wanted.”  
  
The amused smile on Coach Sylvester’s lips was almost fond. “And Quinn Fabray was president of the Celibacy Club and had a lot more at stake than you, Porcelain.” There was another flare of cold as she sprayed him a final time with the antiseptic. “Oh, it’s not your fault. You teenagers are supposed to be useless hormone factories, it’s how you’re made. But I can’t afford any slip-ups this year, so I’m ensuring my success in the most efficient way I know.” She chuckled as she gripped the loose skin high and on the outside of his scrotum and smoothed it with her thumb. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this more times than you can imagine. They named me Gelder of the Year four times running before I got bored with it, and I’ve got enough pairs of animal testes at home to make my own miniature Noah’s Ark.”  
  
Kurt’s throat felt like it was closing in and his muscles ached sharply as he strained against the cuffs without achieving an inch of movement. “No,” he gasped when he saw her free hand close over a scalpel and bring it close to his skin. “No no no no…”  
  
The incision hurt worse than he’d expected. He had no basis of comparison for what a slice through such sensitive skin would feel like other than the impact of a stray knee during glee accidents, but that kind of crippling pain at least didn’t come with the knowledge of a _purpose_ behind it.  
  
He was still gasping and feeling tears burn at his eyes when it got worse – the cut was being penetrated, invaded by Coach Sylvester’s fingers as she slid them _inside_ and felt around. He had to fight back nausea at the feel of them moving under his skin and slipping around. The pressure and stretch of her digits against the lips of the incision alone were enough to make his jaw clench painfully tight to hold back screams and it felt like hours had passed before her fingers flexed and she clasped at something with a sound of triumph. When she tugged her fingers back out, there was something thin gripped between them.  
  
Kurt couldn’t have cared if he wanted about the mindless noises escaping his closed mouth, not when something small and elliptical followed the cord out and he realized what she had just pulled outside of his skin. He tugged at the bonds above his head until his wrists hurt, but he couldn’t get enough slack to pull properly and it was still nothing compared to the nauseating pain from between his legs.

He dizzily noted that the bloody scalpel was down on the tarp and Coach Sylvester was lifting something large, silver, and terrifying off the cart. Kurt couldn’t identify the device, but there was really only one thing it could be for, and he distantly heard himself saying, “No, please no, please, I’ll do anything, _Coach_ …”  
  
She ignored his pleas and fiddled with the device instead, opening the end that looked like some kind of clamp and maneuvering it until it was over the cord hanging out of the incision, still holding the testicle in her other hand against the metal. “Don’t wiggle,” she murmured absently. “You’ve got an artery I’m snipping here and I don’t want to make a mess.”  
  
“Please,” he breathed.  
  
He couldn’t feel when the device clamped shut and sliced, but he saw Coach Sylvester squeeze the handle and he saw the small ellipsoid – that had been _part of his body_ \- fall into her waiting hand. He screamed.  
  
It wasn’t pain. The incision and the disruptions to it had hurt. This, he couldn’t even feel, but the knowledge of what he’d just been deprived of was nearly enough to make his mind shut down.  
  
Apart from a frown when the screaming started, Coach Sylvester seemed unperturbed. She glanced down at her watch and then the body part in her gloved hand, squeezing it experimentally before tossing it into the air, catching it one-handed, and then dropping it carelessly into one of the small pans on the cart. She kept steady hold of the metal thing, which remained clamped on the cord all the while, looking calm.  
  
There was time for Kurt’s screams to die down into stunned silence over the next few minutes and Coach Sylvester didn’t acknowledge him or the quieting whimpers once, reaching for her magazine instead and flipping through it with her free hand. There were bloody fingerprints on each new page.  
  
Kurt couldn’t stop staring at the pan on the cart, the one with a drop of blood on the rim, even once all he could hear was his own ragged panting and the occasional rustle of a glossy page turning. Every so often, he saw Coach Sylvester glance down at her watch and the movement would jostle the device still clamped to him, prompting a light, sickeningly foreign pull.  
  
“That’s three minutes,” Coach Sylvester announced after a last glance down. She set her magazine aside and squeezed a lever, releasing the ratchet that held the clamp shut.  
  
When the clamp lifted up, Kurt tensed. He half-expected to bleed out the second the pressure was released, but there wasn’t so much as a dribble of blood coming from the cord now hanging uselessly from him. Coach Sylvester nodded, looking pleased. “No hemorrhage, good for you.” She shifted on her knees as if getting more comfortable and reached briskly for the antiseptic bottle.  
  
The cold spray hit him high on the left side of the scrotum this time and Kurt stared at the control panel on the wall in front of him. He was going to grit his teeth and hold his head high, no matter what happened.  
  
Thankfully, he didn’t throw up the second time either, although it was a near call once when Coach Sylvester let the device clamped onto him pull down a little too much. She nodded in satisfaction when that side didn’t bleed excessively, then stood and tossed the scalpel and other items that had wound up on the tarp back on top of the cart.  
  
Kurt was keenly aware of the absence of the usual weight between his legs.  
  
“There we go,” she said, “all done with that part. Now, here’s how it’s going to go, Lady…” She clapped her hands together briskly, the liquid-slicked latex making a strange sound, but Kurt cut her off before she could continue.  
  
“I asked you not to call me that.”  
  
She looked at him for a long second, expression neutral, and Kurt forced himself to look her in the eye. She pressed her lips together and nodded once.

“I’ve already called you in as ‘in use by Sue’ for the rest of today and tomorrow,” she picked up again after a moment of silence. “Your family will be getting a similar call from the office – I look forward to watching my personal surveillance footage of Figgins having to handle that job – so I can keep an eye out for sepsis now and then. And now…”  
  
Kurt didn’t say anything as he watched her rip open a sealed packet from the cart and pull out a white oblong shape.  
  
“Pure silicone,” she explained mildly as she reached down and grasped the snipped cord still hanging from the first incision. Kurt lifted his gaze to the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to watch her expression of concentration as she did _something_ involving it and the oblong thing. “Normally, I don’t encourage implants – just ask your friend Pamela Anderson – but judges get distracted and jumpy if they see something that looks like testicular issues. An empty ballsack just waving around out there won’t win us any points.” He could feel when she finished and pulled the edges of the incision apart with two fingers, pushing the implant inside with the other hand. Kurt fought back the urge to shudder when it slipped in, but he could no longer feel the terrifying emptiness there so he stayed quiet and hung slack in his bonds while she repeated the process on the other side.  
  
He yelped when the antiseptic spray landed directly over the incisions and Coach Sylvester kept spraying until the bottle was nearly empty, but it seemed to be a signal that the worst of it was over. His suspicion was confirmed when she followed up by unclipping the piercings from his belly and cock, allowing his dick to fall back down between his legs, making him wince a little when it landed against his scrotum.  
  
She stripped off her gloves and dropped them on the cart, but although Kurt waited to be untied, she seemed to have no interest in doing so. She hit a button that opened a door – not, Kurt thought, the one they’d come in through – and disappeared through it with the cart, leaving him alone. With solitude and the absence of new sensations, Kurt unfortunately was given time to reflect on the way his hands were beginning to lose sensation and his shoulders ached, in addition to everything else. By the time she came back, he was ready to throw her a pleading look. Predictably, she ignored it.  
  
Coach Sylvester spent a few moments peering between his legs without touching and Kurt was too exhausted to squirm anymore. “Good,” she finally said, straightening up. “I’ll be back to check in before I leave for the night, lance whatever swells, and explain your new workout schedule then – can’t have a Cheerio losing muscle mass, eh?” She patted him fondly on the cheek. “Just wait, I’ll make a winner of you yet.” She looked him up and down one last time, then turned on her heel with military precision.  
  
Kurt wanted to protest or at least demand that he be let down before she left, but he suddenly felt very tired. The lights were flicked off, leaving him in darkness, and the door clicked open and shut. The ache between his legs had dulled somewhat, at least. He heaved a shaky sigh and settled in to rest as well as he could until Coach Sylvester came back.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when bad cramps -> hating my ovaries.


End file.
